One of my favorite things to do when we’re having a party is leave the room.
See, we live in this little hole in the wall. The silverware doesn’t match and the furniture has seen better days and no matter how much I dust, it seems like there are always corners that never truly get clean. I think the rug is 10 years old. That kind of stuff.
Whenever we’re having a party it seems like the rooms are too small. Most of my friends my age have houses, with guest rooms that don’t double as storage, with yards and driveways and sets of china without chips in every plate. Basements. Patios. Things like that. And every once in a while when we’re having a party and I’m trying to figure out which two people can make seats out of the one piano bench and whether I can steal a card table from work to make more places to set up board games and I’m feeling insecure because somebody somewhere has something better and always will, I like to leave the room for a second.
Because it reminds me the house is too small to contain the laughter. It echoes down the hallway, and hearing it fill whole other rooms reminds me that a house too tiny to fit all those I love is a wonderful problem to have. Plates that are chipped because we’ve used them for so many meals, that’s a prize, not a punishment. Throw another handful of pasta into the pot and risk it boiling over — that’s the reward for a new face, a new friend, and the walls seem to expand then, and take in more than I thought they could hold.
I hope you all have somewhere warm to go today, and someone you love to spend it with. And I’m thankful that here, in our little virtual house, you ignore the fact that the forks don’t match, and dig into the meal anyway.
A.
I love your home, because that’s exactly what it feels like. Fuzzits, books, crackheads, you guys and all. Thanks, A, for having let me into it.
I’m thankful for places like this. And I like homes that make me feel comfortable and welcome. We’re all a little chipped in places.
It was a big thing in the 90s to complain that no one ever invited one to parties. It might be about having a great dress, but no place to wear it, or how one’s parents always had great parties, but for some reason there were no great parties now. Obviously, all the lead paint chips eaten were taking their toll. Instead of buying another dress or bitching, they should have invited friends over.
We had acquaintances whom we entertained at our place several times wondering why they never saw us again. They contacted us through mutual friends to whom we explained that the charming couple should have acquainted themselves with the services of the local telephone company and called us or, failing that, sent us an invitation by mail. Some people, even people in the computer business, are clueless about modern communication technology.
Congratulations on having people over. That is the most important thing. No one gives a crap about mismatched silverware. We have old pre-Civil War coin silver that we use proudly to flesh out our set of early 20th century silver. One interior decorator we know remarked on the mix, but that’s an occupational thing. We’re still friends. No one gives a footer about chipped dishes. We have Limoges, but we swear by Corel. Have one of your scientific friends explain Corel’s neat X-ray diffraction patterns at your next dinner party. He or she will have everyone laughing.
Cosmopolitan used to have articles on how to have dinner parties in one’s studio apartment, because having dinner parties was part of living, and whatever you might say about Helen Gurley Brown, she understood what was important about living. Too many people are growing up with helicopter parents and no understanding of how to create friends, tradition and families.
Enough of this drunken screed. It’s time to go and eat turkey, with friends, friends with a kitchen not disassembled by a maniacal painter. We’re bringing the pies. Have a great Thanksgiving.
matchy matchy is so…normal.
Great observation A; thank you for making a virtual home here and to allowing us to be your guest. Sounds like your Thanksgiving day went very well.
Amen, sister. I hope your home was filled with all the love and laughter it so obviously deserved to be.
Wait… the forks are supposed to match?!?